Songfic Double Feature: Wabash Cannonball-Wreck of the Old 97
by EDD17SP
Summary: September 27, 1903- Phineas Flynn and Ferb Fletcher operate the Southern Railway's Train 38 passenger service from New York south to Atlanta, picking up the consist of Southern Railway's Train 97 "Fast Mail" en route to Spencer, North Carolina. Rated T for character death. A touch of romance, and very realistic railroading operation, plus some historical fiction.
1. Part 1: The Wabash Cannonball

**I tried to make this story as realistic as possible by including some real history. I had to tweak a few things here and there to make the story work, so don't try and use this story to do research. I used Boxcar Willie's versions of "The Wabash Cannonball" and "Wreck of the Old 97," but, once again, I tweaked the lyrics just a tad to better fit the story.**

**Sorry for the slow beginning, but there was a lot of background that had to be given. Once the train actually leaves the station, the story is gonna move ****_really_**** fast.**

**P.S. For those of you following my P&F Industries series, episode 7 is about 3/8 of the way done, and I know exactly what I want to write for the other 5/8, but the creative juices just aren't flowing. I'm hoping that by writing this short songfic, I can figure out where all my creativity went, for I seem to have misplaced it. Plus, I think I just needed a break from that story. So much detail to keep track of, all those characters… This story was much simpler and easy to write. **

Part 1

The Wabash Cannonball

_September 27,1903  
Grand Central Station; New York, New York_

For about the millionth time in the last half-hour, Phineas Flynn checked his pocket watch. Ferb saw him do this and frowned at his partner.

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop checking that damn watch. It's just gonna get you more worked up."

Phineas scoffed at his fireman. "We haven't been late…ever! We've been early every stop on the way up and I do not want to break our spotless record."

Phineas Flynn had been an engineer on the Southern Railway for eleven years. Ferb Fletcher had been his fireman for the last nine. Since they had paired up, every train they operated had been on time. Just a few months ago, their former locomotive had been replaced by engine 1102. The brand new little 4-6-0 "Ten-wheeler," built by the Baldwin Locomotive Works, had been delivered on August 21 to the Southern Railway, and it was assigned to Phineas and Ferb.

The Southern Railway's line was not quite as expansive as Southern Pacific or Union Pacific. However, nearly all standard gauge railroad track in the United States is connected somewhere, usually at large rail hubs, such as the one in Spencer, North Carolina or the one just outside New York City. In an attempt to expand their reach, the Southern Railway had been granted permission to run a special long-distance passenger service extending onto other railroad's right-of-ways. The train ran as far south as Atlanta, Georgia and as far North as New York. From there, it would travel west along New York Central tracks to Chicago. This train's call number was "Train 38."

Since acquiring their new engine, Phineas and Ferb had become the regular operators of Train 38's eastern seaboard leg. They would run the train from Atlanta to New York, where a fresh locomotive and crew would take the train to Chicago. The men then had a day and a half break until the train returned to New York, and then engine 1102 would pull the train back to Atlanta.

The train had become nicknamed "The Wabash Cannonball," because even though the train belonged to the Southern Railway, it utilized a lot of track from the Wabash line on it's trip. The "Cannonball" part came from its speed. It only stopped at major stations, so its would continue for long stretches at high speed.

Ferb picked up his shovel from were he had leaned it against the bulkhead. As he turned to shovel a load from the massive pile of coal in the tender, he asked, "How many minutes?"

Phineas flicked open the cover on his pocket watch again as Ferb slung the coal into the firebox. "Fourteen minutes and thirty-three seconds."

"We've recovered from worse."

"Yeah, with a much shorter train!"

Phineas had good reason to doubt their ability to make up time today. The train usually consisted of one baggage car, two sleepers, three Pullmans, and a lounge car. This train, however, had an extra baggage car that had been mistakenly shunted from an earlier train headed to Atlanta and two more sleepers that were being taken to Spencer Yard for a refit. While their new "Ten-Wheeler" had more power than their old 4-4-0, an eleven car passenger train was almost unheard of.

Phineas checked his watch again. It was 10:32am. They were supposed to leave Grand Central Station at 10:15, southbound. Unfortunately, a broken signal had rerouted an early north-bound freight train onto their track, so the "Cannonball" was stuck until it reached the side track that led to the New York yard. This side track was visible from the cab of engine 1102.

"Grrrr!" Phineas growled to himself, returning the watch to his pocket.

Ferb had never seen him like this. Phineas's normally sunny disposition had turned moody and dark since they left Atlanta two days ago. He had asked Phineas what was wrong, but the triangle-headed man refused to open up.

_Meanwhile, in Atlanta…_

Isabella Flynn sat the on front porch on the wooden swing Phineas had built for her, knitting a small blanket. They had been married six ago, and their first child was just two months away.

The pregnancy had completely changed Isabella's personality. The young girl was always sweet and happy as could be, until about a month into the pregnancy. Her hormones had been thrown incredibly out of balance, and she always seemed to be angry. She took that anger out on her husband.

Phineas was the perfect scapegoat. He was nearly always gone for three days at a time, and though he would be able to spend at least two days at home with her, Isabella's out-of-whack brain saw his constant extended absences as the perfect reason to blame Phineas for everything.

As she was knitting, she was thinking about him. Specifically, about the last time she saw him. She had yelled some very unkind things at him, cursing him out to the point that he actually started to cry. So, she then yelled at him for crying, too, calling him weak, and unworthy to be her husband.

Phineas had left the house at a dead run. He could not wait for that kid to be born. He needed his old sweetheart of a wife back.

He needed his old life back.

Isabella missed a stitch.

"Grrrr!" she threw the blanket, needles and all to the rickety hard wood floor that made up the porch. "This is his fault! I HATE YOU, PHINEAS FLYNN!" she screamed at the sky.

She sat with her arms folded for a minute, before picking up her work and fixing her mistake.

"Damn. I need to get this kid out of me."

_Back in New York…_

"Seventeen minutes!" Phineas yelled. "We haven't even left the station yet and we're already _seventeen minutes _late!"

Ferb decided it was best to just ignore his partner and check the gauges again. He talked too much, anyway.

Phineas sighed. He rested his elbow on the window sill and leaned out into the warm September sun.

Suddenly, a whistle called out in the distance. Instantly, Phineas perked up.

"Finally!" he cried. "Get ready to ship out, Ferb!"

Soon, chugging could be heard, and a slow moving freight train appeared around the curve. The shrill whistle cried out a few more times as it approached the station.

Two hundred yards before it would have crashed into Train 38 head-on, the freighter passed over a switch and rolled onto a side-track that lead to the freight yard.

As soon as Phineas saw the train clear the switch, he turned and looked back at the train behind him, focused on the vestibule between the last two coaches.

Django Brown, the conductor, extended his arm out from between the passenger cars and giving the "all-clear" signal to Phineas by waving up and down twice.

"Thank God," Phineas said, reaching up and grabbing the whistle cord. He gave the whistle two short blasts, signifying that the train was about to move forward, and pulled down a handle. A loud _whoosh_ escaped from the brake lines. Phineas pulled open the throttle rather roughly.

The six huge drive wheels failed to grip the steel rails and they spun wildly, the locomotive struggling to move the heavy coaches. The train moved forward slower than the wheels were spinning.

"Come ON!" Phineas yelled in frustration. "Get MOVING, you!" He grabbed the sander valve and wrenched it open.

Sand sprayed on the rails under the drive wheels. The wheels briefly gripped, but started to spin out of control again very quickly. Phineas calmed down just enough to realize that he had advanced the throttle too much. He eased it back and the wheels gripped again. A thick, continuous cloud of smoke and ash trailed along the wheels from the front of the train until Ferb closed the cylinder cocks.

Slowly but surely, the heavy train began to accelerate out of Grand Central Station. Once it had gained enough momentum, Phineas was able to open the throttle wide.

"All right, Ferb," he called over the chugging of the pistons, "Let's make up for lost time!"

_From the great Atlantic Ocean to the wide Pacific shore  
To the green of flowing mountains by the south belt by the shore  
Hear the mighty rush of the engine, hear the lonesome hobo squall  
We're riding through to Dixie on the Wabash Cannonball_

Soon, the train was flying along. The wheels still didn't quite grip the rails and the locomotive was struggling a bit, but as long as the train kept it's momentum up, there weren't any uphill grades steep enough to hinder it's progress.

Phineas knew the line like the back of his hand. He knew all the places where the speed limit could be exceeded safely to make up time and all the spots were curves or down grades made slowing down necessary.

By the time the train rolled into Philadelphia, they had made up seven minutes, still late, but pretty good considering the circumstances.

_Our eastern states are dandy, so the people always say  
From New York to St. Louis and Chicago by the way  
From the hills of Minnesota where the rippling waters fall  
No changes can be taken on the Wabash Cannonball_

"Let's try and start just a bit smoother this time," Phineas said, "Wouldn't want the passengers getting bounced around like ping-pong balls."

"Has ping-pong been invented yet?" Ferb asked.

"I don't know, and right now, I don't particularly care."

Phineas had put the sander on when they pulled into the station so that there would already be sand under the wheels to help the train start. He turned in on again, gave the whistle two blasts, released the brakes, and very slowly opened the throttle.

The wheels spun only once before solidly gripping the rails.

"Okay, okay," Phineas said to himself trying unsuccessfully to remain calm, "Easy…easy…easy."

Finally, the speedometer read twenty miles per hour.

"Close enough!" Phineas yelled out, and he increased the throttle to three-quarter power. The train accelerated easily now that the heavy passenger cars had gained some momentum.

They crossed the bridge over the river to Maryland and rolled along the coast. Phineas loved running this close to the ocean. It used to be because he loved the cool sea breezes and the intoxicating smell of the clear salty air. Today, it was because the track was perfectly level and the curves were gentle. The train glided along, and Phineas was able to keep the throttle wide.

They passed a mile marker sign. The top number, 243, was the mile. The bottom number, 40, was the speed limit.

"Forty, huh?" Phineas chuckled almost manically to himself. "We can make fifty easily and still be traveling at a safe speed." He grabbed the throttle. "Heck, we can get away with fifty-five."

Ferb froze mid-scoop. He was used to Phineas exceeding the speed limit when it was safe, but he was not used to Phineas completely ignoring the signs.

"Don't you think that's a bit excessive?" he asked his partner.

Phineas checked his pocket watch for trillionth time that day. "Nope."

Eventually, the tracks left the ocean and headed into the mountains. Thick forest surrounded the line, the trees a blur as the little locomotive and its heavy consist flew past. They passed through the little station at Harper's Ferry without stopping and continued on to Baltimore.

_Well, listen to the jingle, the rumble and the roar  
As she glides along the woodland by the hills and by the shore  
Hear the mighty rush of the engine, hear that lonesome hobo squall  
We're traveling through the jungle on the Wabash Cannonball._

* * *

"Phineas?"

"What, Ferb?" Phineas responded, annoyance present in his voice.

"Isn't it time to slow down?"

"NO," Phineas said, a little bit louder than he meant to.

"But we're two miles from Baltimore and we're going-" Ferb leaned over to look at the speedometer. "-fifty-seven miles per hour. It's going to take even longer to stop with the extra weight behind us."

"Ferb, I know what I'm doing." Phineas wasn't even looking at his fireman. He was looking at his watch again.

* * *

Django Brown had been the conductor on Train 38 for as long as Phineas and Ferb had been the operators and had gotten to know them pretty well, and he knew exactly how Phineas drove.

Which is why today he was confused when he didn't hear the air brakes come on when they passed mile marker 304. Django had been confused since they had left New York. He wasn't used to Phineas driving so recklessly.

When he didn't hear the brakes come on, he quickly ran through the baggage cars and climbed over the tender.

"Guys, would you care to explain to me what's going on?" he asked.

"Making up for lost time. I will not be late," Phineas snapped.

Django frowned. "Are you aware that you're almost a mile from Baltimore?"

"Yes, yes I am."

"So why aren't you slowing down?"

"I already told you. I'm making up for lost time."

Django looked at Ferb. Ferb looked at Django. "BUT YOU'RE GONNA OVERSHOOT THE STATION!" they yelled in unison.

"I know what I'm doing," Phineas said through gritted teeth. "I will slow down when I am good and ready."

Django exhaled, anger building. "Alright, I didn't want to do this, but you leave me with no choice." He took another step towards Phineas. "You are the engineer. I am the conductor. You may drive, but this is _my _train! Now stop this train right now or I'll report you for disorderly conduct!"

"Fine! Have it your way!" Phineas screamed. He slammed the throttle shut and forcibly pulled the brake handle down against its stop.

The locomotive's wheels locked up. The tension between the eleven passenger cars vanished as their momentum slammed them into the slowing locomotive and each other. The force was enough to knock anyone standing off their feet, including Ferb and Django, the latter of which hit his forehead against the steam pressure gauge.

The train slid along for a long distance before finally coming to an abrupt stop that jolted the train roughly once again.

"Happy?" Phineas asked.

Django rubbed his bruised head and stood carefully, bracing himself against the control panel with one hand. He looked past Phineas out the window. Only the last passenger car was actually in front of the platform. All the other cars had slid past.

"Smooth stop, genius," Django snapped. "You overshot the platform, anyway."

"What?" Phineas's tone suddenly became anxious and his expression became softer. He looked dumbfounded.

Ferb stood up as well. "It is taking all of my willpower to keep from closing the firebox doors on your head," he said in his thick English accent. He placed his hands on Django's shoulders and helped him onto the ladder out of the cab. "Come on, Django," he said, "Let's get that head checked out." Then he turned back to Phineas. "Could you pretend to be competent for just a minute and back this thing up to the platform?"

Phineas barely noticed them leaving. He could not believe that he had actually overshot the station platform. "What?"

* * *

Ferb and Django walked through the grass beside the track bed back to the station. There seemed to be some sort of commotion on the platfrom.

"What's going on?" Django asked. "There seems to be an awful lot of excitement up there." Behind them, the locomotive's whistle blew three times and the train slowly started to back up.

"Well, to be fair, a train did just slide through the station," Ferb reminded him. "It's not something that happens everyday."

"Except that their attention seems to be directed on the other side of the station, away from the tracks."

"Good observation."

They walked up the ramp onto the platform and tried to see past the crowd of excited people. A young women in a lacy black dress with a large black hat and a black parasol was climbing from a horse-drawn carriage. Django didn't understand what everyone was so excited about, but Ferb knew.

"I know who that is!" Ferb said, becoming excited himself.

Django gave him a skeptical look. "Really?"

"Yes! I hope she remembers me."

Ferb left Django and pushed his way through the crowd. The woman was looking around nervously, searching for a way to avoid all the people. Her eyes widened and her mouth curved into a smile when Ferb emerged from the sea of faces.

"Ferb!" she called to him.

Ferb broke free from the crowd and ran up to her. "Vanessa!"

She opened her arms to give him a hug, but he stopped. "You don't want to do that. I'm drenched in sweat and covered in coal dust," he said, motioning to his blackened overalls.

She narrowed her eyes, but her smile only grew. "Will you quit your blubbering and give me a hug?"

Ferb hesitantly put his arms around her, trying not to get her too dirty, but she just pulled him in and held him tight.

After a few moments they reluctantly pulled apart.

"What are you doing here?" Ferb asked.

Vanessa held up her ticket. "I'm riding home to Virginia. I just finished the shooting for a new motion picture here in Baltimore and I am exhausted. I can't wait to get home to Danville."

Ferb smirked. "Sounds like being an actor isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Vanessa smirked back. "Especially when you've been in town for this long. I think everybody here knows who I am. They're so excited to have a motion picture set in their city that they hound me every time I try to leave the set." Her gaze softened. "But enough about me. I haven't seen you in ten years. How have you been?"

"Moved to Atlanta," he said. Behind him, he could hear a faint squeal as the train's brakes came on. He briefly glanced behind him to see that the train was now perfectly aligned with the end of the platform. "Had to. It's just easier when you have to start out there every two days."

"I don't follow."

He pointed at the locomotive. "I'm the fireman."

"Really?" She was surprised. "I find it hard to believe that you work for the railroad after everything you did back when we were kids. You know," her gaze dropped. "Before you moved to Georgia."

Ferb's excitement to see Vanessa vanished and he hung his head, feeling somewhat guilty. "I guess I just found another calling," he said mournfully. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. I had no idea that…" he was afraid to finish the sentence for fear of painful memories resurfacing.

"It's okay, Ferb. You did what you had to." She pulled him into another hug, not caring how dirty he was. When she pulled back a few moments later, her bright smile had returned. "Say…"

"Yes?"

"This is your train here?" she asked, pointing to the dark green passenger cars parked at the platform.

"Yes, yes it is."

"Could you escort me to my seat? Now? Before boarding begins? It would be great to avoid all this fanfare."

Ferb smiled back. "I would be delighted." He held out his arm and Vanessa took it. "Where's your seat?"

"Here." She handed him her ticket.

He didn't respond, but led her through the crowd of people to the train. He saw Phineas walking toward them along the platform from the engine, but he would deal with him later.

Ferb jumped up onto the steps and helped Vanessa step up, her long dress a slight hindrance. He led her through the car to her seat and held her hand to balance her while she shimmied sideways between the seats.

"Thank you, good sir," she said jokingly as she sat down.

"You are quite welcome, ma'am." He handed her ticket back to her.

Vanessa settled into the plush cushion, glad to be on her way home. Ferb looked at her expectantly. "It was really nice to see you again, Ferb," she said quietly.

"It was nice to see you too."

There was silence for a moment, each wondering what to say to the other.

"By the way," Vanessa asked, "What happened when you pulled in? Why did you pass the station?"

That jolted Ferb out of his spinning imagination and back to reality. "Oh…uh, we had a small mechanical failure and had to use the emergency brake to stop. But don't worry, it will be fixed and it won't happen again. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go see if I can get the engineer to crouch down by the firebox doors."

And with that, Ferb quickly left the car.

_We rolled in to Baltimore one warm September day  
As she pulled into the station you could hear all the people say  
"There's a gal out there from Danville," she's long and she's tall  
She's a combination on the Wabash Cannonball_

Phineas had seen Ferb go into the car with Vanessa and he was waiting for the fireman when he came back out.

"Ferb?" he asked somewhat nervously.

"What?" Ferb asked somewhat angrily. He brushed past Phineas and started walking back towards the locomotive. They had to leave again in five minutes.

Phineas hesitated. "I…I'm really sorry, Ferb."

Ferb stopped and turned to face his partner. "Yeah?" he asked in a disbelieving tone.

"Yes. I know, I haven't been myself lately."

"You can say that again."

"It's Isabella."

"Your wife?" Ferb asked as they started walking again.

"Yeah. I used to be so excited to get back to Atlanta to see her…she used to come and greet me in the yard, remember?"

"Yeah. She doesn't do that anymore. It's because she got pregnant, right?" he asked, remembering that Phineas had told him he was going to be a father.

"It's not just that. Obviously, she shouldn't be running around like a teenager with the equivalent of a cinder block in her belly. But…ever since she first found out she was pregnant, she's been getting progressively…angrier, I guess, for lack of a better term."

"Hormones?"

"Extremely. She's so mentally unwell from the hormones that she yells at me, screams at me! Every little thing is somehow my fault." Phineas looked down at the ballast crunching beneath his feet as they walked. "She was never like that before. In six years of marriage, I don't think she's ever once blamed me for something, let alone been angry with me."

They reached the tender and Ferb headed up the ladder secured to the back. Phineas followed.

"I don't quite recall," Ferb said, "How far along is she now?"

"Seven months," Phineas said.

Ferb reached the top looked back down at Phineas as he climbed up. "Hang in there, man." Phineas crested the ladder and Ferb gave him a hardy pat on the back. "You're almost there, now."

Phineas sighed. "I just don't know how much more I can take. The day we left Atlanta, she called me weak and unworthy to be her husband."

Ferb crouched down and opened the water tank. There was a water gauge in the locomotive, but he liked to see for himself just how much water was left when the stop was long enough. "I can see why that would change your entire disposition."

Phineas looked Ferb in the eyes. "Can you forgive me for being such an idiot?"

Ferb didn't respond. He stuck his head down into the huge water tank and checked the level by the tiny shaft of sunlight that slipped in through the hole past his head. Satisfied, he emerged and closed the tank while Phineas watched, anxious to hear his reply.

Ferb secured the latch on the tank cover and stood up. "I will forgive you on one condition." He stepped right in front of Phineas and jabbed the man's chest with one finger. "Get us home in one piece, please. My medical insurance won't cover another trip to the hospital."

Phineas smiled. "Deal."

They climbed down from the tender.

"Has medical insurance been invented yet?" Phineas asked.

Ferb stopped in his tracks and stared off into space. "I don't know. I don't think so."

They started walking again. "The author should really do better research," Phineas said.

* * *

Having apologized to Django, too, Phineas and Ferb returned to their cab. Somehow, it was hotter than it had been when they had arrived at the station.

Phineas took his seat in the engineer's chair on the left side of the cab. Out of habit, he placed his left hand on the throttle. He looked back for Django's signal, and when he was given the "all-clear" he faced forward again and took a deep breath. The stretch of track where the station sat was a on a slight uphill grade, almost unnoticeable unless you're trying to start a very heavy train.

"Okay, here we go." He reached up with his right hand and gave the whistle two short blasts. He turned on the sander valve, and then slowly released the brakes. The air hissed out of the brake hoses as the ejector came on and Phineas carefully opened up the throttle.

The great driving wheels turned in unison, driven by the side rods, driven by the pistons, driven by the steam that was building in the boiler. They advanced a full turn, enough abrasive sand built up to provide sufficient grip, before they lost traction and began to slip, spinning faster than the train was moving. With a lack of momentum, the train nearly stopped again.

"Come on, come on," Phineas chanted calmly to himself. He decreased the throttle a hair and the wheels regained traction. A few more turns and the wheels briefly slipped again before friction took hold and the train crept forward.

"Here we go, here we go, come on…"

Ferb tossed five successive shovelfuls into the huge firebox and slightly increased the water flow to the boiler.

Phineas leaned out the window and watched the drivers turn. Thick, black smoke poured from the smokestack, the _chug, chug, chugs _becoming louder as the ten-wheeler struggled to start the heavy train. They were going no faster than four miles per hour and the eleventh car had just cleared the platform. "Yes, yes, yes…"

He increased power a fraction of an inch. He watched the drivers for wheelslip, but the sand was enough, and the speedometer slowly crept toward ten mph.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Phineas called out, "Here we go! We got it now!"

The speedometer registered twelve, then fifteen, then twenty, Phineas slowly increasing the throttle with every advancement of the needle.

Soon, the ground leveled out and the train was cruising along again at fifty mph. Phineas held his head out the window again, enjoying the cool wind on his sweaty face.

Ferb looked over at his partner as he tossed in more coal. _He seems more like his old self, now. Somehow, overshooting that station helped him._

_Listen to the jingle, the rumble and the roar  
As she glides along the woodland by the hills and by the shore  
Hear the mighty rush of the engine, hear that lonesome hobo squall  
We're traveling through to Dixie on the Wabash Cannonball_

Django climbed into the cab about two hours later. "We're almost to Monroe, Virginia, boys," the conductor said. "Halfway home, now."

**Part 2 and 3 coming soon! **

**Review Please!**

**EDD17SP**


	2. Part 2: Wreck of the Old 97

Part 2

Wreck of the Old 97

It was nearly 4:00pm by the time the Wabash Cannonball reached Monroe, Virginia. Low on coal and nearly dry of water, the train clanked into the station. Ferb quickly uncoupled the locomotive and rode on the tender as Phineas ran engine 1102 onto a side track where a coal tipple and water tower were waiting to replenish their fuel.

As the yard maggots serviced their locomotive, Phineas noticed another train parked on an adjacent sidetrack, across the right-of-way. An engine identical to theirs was coupled to two post cars, an express car, and a baggage car.

"1728," Phineas said aloud, reading the number on the locomotive. "Hey, Ferb! Look!" Ferb turned from what he was doing and looked where Phineas was pointing. "There's Steve and Buford!"

They hopped down from the cab and crossed the tracks. They had been friends with the operators of engine 1728 for several years now.

Steve and Buford, standing next to their locomotive, did not look happy, and neither did the yard master, who was yelling at them and looking very red in the face.

"I wonder what's up," Phineas said to Ferb.

As they got closer, they could hear what the yard master was yelling. Steve and Buford looked very sheepish.

"…and if you can't figure out a way to get this train to Spencer on time, you're both FIRED! You're already an hour behind, so you'd better figure it out fast!"

_Well they gave him his orders in Monroe, Virginia  
Saying, "Steve, You're a-way behind time.  
This is not 38, but it's old 97  
You must put her into Spencer on time"_

* * *

With that, the yard master stormed off back to the yard office. Phineas and Ferb reached Steve and Buford almost immediately after he left.

"Hey, guys! What's up?" Phineas asked.

"Hey. We've got a problem," Steve told them slowly.

"Not just a problem!" Buford shouted. "A great, big, gigantic, titanic of a problem!"

"Sounds pretty serious," Ferb quipped.

"What's wrong?" Phineas asked.

Steve sighed. "We're running Old 97 today, the 'Fast Mail.'" He pointed over his shoulder at the train behind him. "Somehow or another, our ejector failed."

Locomotives equipped with air brakes have a pump called an ejector. The ejector pumps air out of the brake lines when the engineer shuts the brakes off. It keeps the brakes off by continually pumping, since brake hoses are never perfectly airtight. If the ejector fails, the brakes will slowly leak on until the train can't move.

"It failed about thirty miles north of here," Steve continued. "We had to disconnect the brake hoses from the engine to the consist to get here. It was okay with only four cars. But, once we pass Lynchburg, the track's got a lot of tight curves and that three mile down grade. It's not safe without our airbrakes."

"That's not good," Phineas said.

"Duh!" This from Buford.

"Anyway, the yard master said if we can't get the train to Spencer Yard on time, we're both fired," Steve finished. "This train is always on time. It just so happens that the one time me and Buford have to run it, we lose the ejector and are in danger of being late. Now we're an hour behind schedule."

"They can't fire you! You've been an engineer for twice as long as I have!" Phineas exclaimed. "And Buford, you've been here just as long as I have! How can we help? Is there another available engine anywhere?"

"Not here," Buford said. "Not for several states over."

"Okay," Phineas thought. "How about a spare ejector? Ferb and I can swap out parts in no time flat!"

"Nope. They've got one in Baltimore, but going back there to change it would make us even more late," Steve relayed.

"Hmm…" Phineas thought hard. "The only other thing I can think of is to couple your cars onto the back of our train. But we barely have enough power to pull the train as it is. If only we didn't have those three extra cars."

Everyone was silent for a moment.

"How is it starting your train?" Steve asked.

"Pretty hard. We've had trouble getting going all day."

"Okay, how about this: We'll couple our cars onto the back of your train. Our engine won't be much use coupled to anything with the brake lines connected, but we can still use her to help you get the train started."

"Right!" Phineas exclaimed. "You can push from behind, and if don't couple your engine on and leave the brake hoses disconnected, once we're up to speed, you can just reverse on back to the station and we can continue on without stopping."

"Exactly!"

"There's hope!" Buford cried.

Phineas and Ferb glanced back at engine 1102. Its service was complete and it was almost time for Train 38 to pull out.

"We'd better hurry and get shunting," Ferb said. "Otherwise, we're all going to be out of luck."

* * *

Phineas and Ferb returned to their engine as Steve and Buford uncoupled from Train 97 and ran their engine over the switch onto the mainline, ready to reverse back behind the "Cannonball."

Once they had passed, 1102 let out two blasts of her whistle, and Phineas rolled her out of the service siding and over to the sidetrack where the cars of Train 97 sat waiting. They had decided it would be easier to set out the cars once they reached Spencer if the mail train was right behind the locomotive, in front of the rest of Train 38. This way, they could leave the passenger cars on the platform at Spencer while they shunted out the mail train.

They picked up the cars and retraced their steps out of the siding, changed the points, and reversed. Phineas sanded the rails as they backed down onto their waiting coaches. Ferb hopped out to connect the brake hoses and set the coupler as engine 1728 returned behind the train, and gently pushed against it.

Finally, the call number on the train was changed from 38 to 97, since 97 was considered the more important of the two.

All was ready.

* * *

Phineas looked back at the consist behind him and whistled appreciatively.

"Wow. Fifteen cars. Fifteen very heavy cars."

"Are you sure about this, Phineas?" Ferb asked. "Can we haul all that weight?"

Phineas turned to Ferb. "You let me worry about that. You just build up that fire as hot as you can possibly make it, and we get to the pass, you just watch. We're gonna make up some time."

They had finished assembling their train just in time. Phineas looked out the window again and saw Django, more distant that before, wave his arm up and down.

Phineas pulled the whistle chord twice. Steve whistled twice in reply.

"Here we go." Phineas released the brake and slowly opened the throttle. Immediately, the wheels began to slip, the heavy train refusing to budge. Then Steve and Buford's locomotive began to push against the train from behind.

The train began to move.

"Yeah, yeah, that's it," Phineas whispered to himself. Beside him, Ferb shoveled coal into the firebox furiously.

The two engines, working together, gradually accelerated the fifteen cars. Phineas opened the throttle further and the wheels held their traction.

"We're doing it! We got it!" he called excitedly.

A few minutes later, the train had reached twenty-five miles per hour. Phineas waved out the window at the second locomotive far behind. A blast of the other locomotive's whistle was the reply, and the engine dropped back from the rear of the train as Steve shut off steam.

Phineas tentatively watched the speedometer, willing it to keep going up as he opened the throttle another fraction of an inch.

The needle crept up to thirty.

"Yes!" Phineas called out. He waved a second time at his helper locomotive, and Steve gave a two whistle reply again. This time, engine 1728 quickly faded into the distance. Steve had applied the brakes, preparing to reverse back to Monroe Station.

"Okay, Ferb, let's see what this baby can do!" Phineas yelled over the chugging of the locomotive. He pulled the throttle open wide as the train sped toward Lynchburg.

"I hope we make it to Spencer on time and in one piece," Ferb said, taking a brief breather from shoveling, sweat pouring down his blackened face. "Our record, the railroad's reputation, and the jobs of two good friends hang in the balance."

_Well, he turned to the black greasy fireman and said  
"Just shovel on a little more coal  
And when we cross that wide open mountain  
You can watch Old 97 roll"_

* * *

It's one hundred sixty-six miles from Monroe Station to Spencer yard. Once the train was well underway and easily gaining speed, Ferb stopped shoveling and whipped out an abacus. He started sliding the beads around with lightning speed.

"A one hundred and sixty-six mile journey, normal running time about four and a quarter hours, one hour delay, incorporate the slow start…" Ferb spoke to himself as he calculated. He stopped, counted his beads, and looked up at Phineas, who's rapt attention was on the track ahead. "We have to make an average speed of at least 57 miles per hour."

Phineas did not avert his gaze from the forward cab window. "That's gonna be difficult, considering the treacherous track ahead." He increased the throttle again, trying to reach Ferb's estimated necessary average speed. "And it's hard to go fast as it is, what with all the excess weight. We've got just one chance." He sighed and looked at his fireman. "When we reach that down hill grade, we'll have to use gravity to our advantage to pick up some extra speed. And by that, I mean in addition to the throttle."

Ferb looked nervous at the mere idea. "That sounds…ill-advised."

"That's Buford's line. And I don't think we have any other choice," Phineas said. "We're gonna have to try. But I can do it! I know this line like the back of my hand!"

"Already used that line in narration of Part 1. Just remember you've got a lot of extra weight, and therefore, momentum, behind you that you're gonna have to slow down."

"I know, Ferb. I know."

They reached Lynchburg, Virginia an hour later. Phineas was nervous about having to stop again, but fortunately, like in Baltimore, the line was on a slight downgrade, so the train would be slightly aided by gravity when they had to start again.

While waiting for passengers to disembark and for more to board, Phineas was given further orders to bypass Franklin Junction, a normal stop for Train 97.

"That's good news," Ferb said when Phineas told him. "One less stop, and therefore, one less start, and our necessary average speed decreases by at least six miles per hour."

"We're still going to have to book it," Phineas said. "And I am not looking forward to that down grade." Phineas suddenly froze.

"What now?" Ferb asked.

"I just remembered. There's a curved trestle at the bottom of that grade. If we don't slow down enough…"

Ferb nodded. No response was needed.

A few minutes later, Django gave the okay to proceed and the train started off again, struggling to start as was the norm that day. Thanks to gravity, though, it wasn't long before the "Cannonball" was flying along again.

* * *

"Eight miles to Danville," Ferb said. Phineas didn't need to be told, for he already knew that, but he nodded anyway.

Phineas's eyes had been shifting back and forth constantly between the track ahead and the speedometer. He was amazed at the speed the train was carrying.

"Who knew this engine was even capable of 76 miles per hour?" Phineas said. "I always thought Baldwin made the speedometer go all the way up to 100 as a joke."

They were nearly on top of the three mile grade. Phineas checked his watch. "We're still almost forty minutes behind. I'm giving her all she's got." He pulled the throttle open against its stop. "I'll just have to be really aggressive with the brake when we get to the grade."

A few minutes later, the angle of the track changed noticeably, angling downward. Gravity almost immediately took over, pulling the train down the mountain; the speedometer started to climb even more.

"Whoa," Phineas gasped when the speedometer registered at 90. He glanced out the window at the ground flying past, then ahead. He could see the curved Stillhouse Trestle in the distance. "Enough is enough. We'll jump the tracks for sure at this speed!"

Phineas closed the throttle and put his hand on the brake, ready to slow the train to a safe speed. He pushed the handle down hard, expecting there to be resistance, but there was none. The handle dropped as far down as it would go, and there was no whoosh of air from the compressor into the brake hoses.

"Uh-oh."

Phineas pushed the handle up and down several times, hoping it would suddenly work. Unfortunately, the brakes did not apply.

"Uh…Ferb?"

Ferb looked up mid-shovel.

"We've got a big problem."

He pushed the handle up and down a few more times, demonstrating to Ferb the lack of response.

"No brakes?" Ferb asked.

"No brakes. Ironic, considering Steve and Buford had the exact opposite problem."

"What should we do?" Ferb asked.

Phineas bit his lower lip and glanced around nervously. "Uh…we crash?"

The Wabash Cannonball/Train 97 had just become a rolling coffin of doom.

_It's a long, long way, form Lynchburg to Danville  
On the line there's a three mile grade  
It was on that grade that he lost his air brakes  
You can see what a jump that he made_

The train flew toward the bridge, the wheels pounding the rails, the noise from the escaping steam and smoke almost deafening. Ditching was not an option. Jumping out of the cab at ninety miles per hour would kill them anyway.

"All we can do is sit back and take the plunge," Phineas said. He sat back in his engineer's chair and placed his hand on the closed throttle. There was no point in doing so, but it was comforting to have something to hold onto. With his other hand, he held down the chord that hung from the ceiling, sending the whistle into a continuous roar. Ferb stood his shovel on end against the floor, holding it with his left hand and saluting with his right.

The train reached the bridge. Centrifugal force pulled the train toward the outside of the curve. The force was more than the wheel flanges could take and the locomotive jumped the tracks.

"I'm sorry, Isabella," Phineas whispered, and he shut his eyes.

The train plunged down forty feet to the bottom of the gorge below, the whistle screaming all the way to the ground. The coupler between the fourth and fifth cars sheared off, and only the mail cars from Train 97 followed the locomotive off the bridge. The passenger cars leaned to the outside of the curve, but stayed on the tracks, continuing to roll down the mountain, gradually slowing.

The locomotive smashed into the ground, the boiler cap on the front breaking off and crushing the engine pilot. Otherwise, the heavy steel locomotive remained mostly intact.

The mail cars broke apart when they hit the ground, splintering wood and sending metal flying.

The superheated coal in the engine's firebox spilled out onto the ground, still burning. Nearby trees caught fire, and the fire spread quickly. Within minutes, the flames had reached the remains of the mail cars. The wooden cars and their mostly paper cargo were consumed by the blaze rapidly, and within an hour, only the steel locomotive and its tender remained. Even the metal trucks from the post cars were gone, for the fire had melted them.

_He was a-going down the grade doing 90 miles an hour  
When the whistle broke into a scream…_

* * *

When the remaining cars from the train finally coasted to a stop, Django jumped out. He considered running back to the crash site, but he knew what had happened. Rolling at 90mph, the passenger cars had continued on without an engine for nearly two more miles. It was closer to run to the small freight depot a half-mile down the track.

And so, Django took off, running on the cross ties, ignoring the hot sun beating down on him from above.

Vanessa was the first passenger off the train. She hopped down to the ground, nearly tripping over her long dress, and looked back in the direction they had come. A dense cloud of black smoke was rising from the ground on the horizon. She turned and saw that there were cars missing from the front of the train, as well as the engine. There had been a jolt when the front of the train derailed, and it wasn't difficult to piece together what had happened.

"Ferb," she whispered as other passengers disembarked from the train behind her. "No…"

* * *

Django left the tracks and ran to the lonely little building. He vaulted onto the little loading dock at the freight depot, which was nothing more than a short rail spur off the main line with a little "office" and loading dock. He charged into the building and threw open the door to the office. A short man with thick magenta rimmed glasses was filling out forms and sorting manifests. The name on the tag attached to his vest read "Irving."

"Send a telegram to Lynchburg Station, quick!" Django yelled, not wasting time with pleasantries. "The 'Cannonball's' gone over on Stillhouse Trestle!"

"Dear God!" Irving muttered, dropping his fountain pen. He rolled his desk chair over to the telegraph and immediately tapped out a message to Lynchburg.

* * *

The rescue party arrived in a 4-4-0 switcher engine from Lynchburg pushing a Burro Crane and two flatcars. Sixteen men, who had been riding on one of the flat cars, leapt from the train before it even stopped rolling and scrambled down the steep forty-foot embankment to the wreckage below. One of those men was Heinz Doofenshmirtz with his tracking platypus, Perry, on a leash.

The fire had burned itself out long ago, and only small campfire-sized flames still crackled around the debris. The men crawled through the crash site, Perry sniffing the air with his nose and leading Doofenshmirtz around. The platypus was searching for survivors.

"You have a tracking platypus?" asked one of the other rescuers. "Why not a tracking dog? It's a platypus. They don't do much."

"That's where you're wrong," Heinz replied in his German accent. "Most platypuses don't do much, but Perry here is special. He not only tracks by smell, but by sight and sound, too."

Perry growled and suddenly pulled Heinz in a different direction. The fellow rescuer followed.

"Whoa, boy! Whoa!"

Perry stopped and pointed with his bill between two scorched trees growing near the foundation of the bridge. Doofenshmirtz dropped the leash and walked between the trees. There, under the bridge, was the body of a man. The man was badly injured, evident by the blood running down the side of his skull and staining his shirt, but he was still alive, his breaths coming in short, rapid wheezes.

"What did I tell ya?" Heinz asked the man.

"Well, I'll be damned!"

The rescuer called to two of the other men poking through the wreck and they came running over to assist him. Heinz picked up the end of Perry's leash.

"Good boy, Perry," he said, patting the platypus on the head.

Suddenly, Perry took off at a dead run.

"Oof!" Doof puffed as the platypus dragged him across the clearing. He appeared to be heading towards the locomotive.

The ten-wheeler was lying partially on its side, a few feet of dirt covering the wheels from when the engine plowed into the ground. Perry ran so fast that Heinz lost his grip on the leash. The platypus sprinted away, darting around the tender and pointing into the cab.

Doofenshmirtz caught up a few moments later, panting for breath. "What's gotten into you, Perry?" He looked where Perry's bill was pointing.

One figure lay on the cab floor. The man's skull had been smashed open like a watermelon when the train hit the ground. A splatter of blood showed where he had hit his head against the control panel. He was obviously the fireman, for he was still clutching his shovel in his stiff left hand.

The other figure was slumped over in the engineer's chair. Any exposed skin had turned a sickening red color and had shriveled like a pea. In some places, the skin had been so badly burnt that it turned black.

"These brave souls ran didn't even jump. They ran their train all the way to the grave, like a captain going down with his ship," Heinz said solemnly, for the man was still holding the smooth rounded metal handle on the end of the throttle.

_…He was found in the wreck, with his hand on the throttle  
Scalded to death by the steam_

Carl Karl was a telegraph operator at the Washington, Virginia Station. He had had a rather eventful day. At the moment, he was having a rather heated argument with the telegrapher in Baltimore concerning a string of empty boxcars that was taking up precious space in the few sidings that the station had.

*I DO NOT CARE STOP I WANT THESE CARS OUT OF MY YARD STOP WE HAVE BEEN SHUFFLING THEM AROUND FOR WEEKS STOP IF YOU DO NOT HAVE ROOM FOR THEM THERE THEN SEND THEM SOMEWHERE ELSE STOP I JUST WANT THEM GONE STOP END*

Once he had finished tapping out his message, Carl glanced out the window as the six-fifteen to Philadelphia pulled in to the station. A few seconds later, the receiver began to click away, relaying a new message. Carl assumed it was the operator in Baltimore responding, so he just listened without moving to write it down.

After the first three dozen clicks, Carl froze.

"My God!"

He grabbed a fountain pen and began to scribble down the message onto the back of an old envelope. When the message ended, he dropped the pen and reread the message, not believing what he had just written down.

*TRAIN 97 DERAILED AT STILLHOUSE TRESTLE STOP THREE SURVIVORS STOP ELEVEN DEAD STOP BODIES OF ENGINEER AND FIREMAN TAKEN TO DANVILLE STATION STOP TRAIN 38 FOUND DOWN LINE FROM WRECK WITH NO ENGINE STOP WRECKED ENGINE NUMBER 1102 STOP ASSUMED TRAIN 97 CONSIST ADDED TO 38 ATTEMPTING TO MAKE SPENCER ON TIME STOP END*

Carl could not believe it. He jumped up and ran to the station master's office, waving the envelope in his hand.

_Well, the telegram came to Washington Station  
And this is what it read  
Oh, that brave engineer that ran Old 97  
Well, he's lying in ol' Danville, dead _

* * *

Francis Monogram heard a knock at his office door.

"Enter."

The door flew open, revealing Carl, all the color drained from his face.

"Sir." Carl could barely get the syllable out. He shakily raised his hand and held out the envelope.

"What's the matter, Carl?" Francis asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I might as well have." He gestured with the envelope.

Francis slowly pulled the message from the terrified telegrapher's hand and read the chicken scratch. When he was finished, he slowly removed his glasses.

"I think you'd better send a message to Atlanta right away," Monogram said. "I can imagine Mrs. Flynn is going to be quite upset."

He fumbled with a pen on his oak desk and shakily drafted out a short message on the opposite side of the envelope, addressed to Mrs. Phineas Flynn. He knew the Flynns personally and felt it would be best if the message came from him.

He handed the envelope back to Carl. Their eyes met, and words were not needed for Carl to know the station master's instructions. Carl nodded and left the office.

Monogram sank into his chair and gently rubbed his eyes with the side of his hand. Train derailments were not big news. They were part of daily life. But this had to be one of the worst accidents he'd ever had reported to him.

He could not image the terror those two men must have felt as their train plunged into the gorge.

* * *

Baljeet Tjinder was nearly as shocked as Carl when he received Monogram's message from Washington. He lived a few houses away from the Flynns.

"Dear me," he whispered to himself. "Phineas was a good man. What's Isabella to do now? With a baby on the way and no one to father it?"

He slid over to the typewriter and copied the telegram he had had just scribbled down. He took the paper from the typewriter and folded it in thirds, then slid it into an envelope and sealed it. On the front, he wrote "Mrs. Phineas Flynn" and the house address.

Baljeet stood from his chair and stepped out of the office onto the Atlanta Station platform. A boy in a gray newsboy's cap with a bicycle stood by the station entrance. Baljeet approached him and pulled a quarter from his pocket.

"Can you take this telegram to this address?" he asked the boy, showing him the envelope.

The boy nodded. "I sure can, mister." He took the envelope and Baljeet gave him the quarter.

"Thanks, mister!"

"Hurry up, now," Baljeet said. "Get it there as fast as you can."

The boy hopped up onto his bicycle and began to pedal as fast as he could. Baljeet watched him leave the station, and then returned to his office, looking downcast.

* * *

Isabella was reading when the knock at the front door came.

"What do you want?" Isabella yelled, peeved at being interrupted.

"Telegram, miss!" a small voice replied.

Isabella grumbled to herself as she put her book down and stood, her rather large belly almost causing her to loose her balance. She shuffled to the front door and yanked it open. The small boy was only about half her height, and he held the envelope high above his head so Isabella wouldn't have to reach down to take it.

"Here you go, ma'am."

Isabella snatched the envelope from him and slammed the door, leaving a quite confused little boy standing on the front porch.

"What's so important?" she mumbled as she tore open the seal and pulled out the folded paper.

*ISABELLA STOP PHINEAS'S TRAIN DERAILED NEAR DANVILLE STOP HE IS DEAD STOP I AM VERY SORRY STOP FRANCIS MONOGRAM STOP END*

The tears in the corners of Isabella's eyes burned.

"Phineas…"

She immediately thought about the last time she had seen him. She had yelled at him, blamed him, called him unworthy of her love.

And now, he was gone.

"No…He can't be gone…No. No no no…"

_Now come all you ladies and from me take warning  
And from this day on you must learn  
Never speak harsh words to your kind-hearted husband  
He may leave you and never return_

**My OC Steve from my ****_P&F Industries _****series makes a brief appearance in this chapter. I wasn't going to include him in this story, but the original lyrics of ****_Wreck of the Old 97_**** do actually say "Steve." The town of Danville is also part of the original lyrics. For background on Steve, read ****_P&F Industries #1: The Mustang_****.**

**Please review!**

**EDD17SP**


	3. Part 3: The Wabash Cannonball (Closing)

Part 3  
The Wabash Cannonball (Closing)

The Wreck of Train 97 made headlines, at least in major railroading cities along the east coast. The names of Phineas Flynn and Ferb Fletcher became synonymous with hero. They were considered the two bravest men in railroading since Casey Jones.

A funeral service was held in Spencer, North Carolina by the director of the Southern Railroad. Isabella and Baljeet traveled north on a private train to attend.

The funeral was held at the small church in town. The caskets were closed considering the disfigurement both men had gone through in death.

Vanessa made the short train trip down from Danville to attend, as well. When she took her turn for mourning, she gently lifted the lid on Ferb's casket, just enough to slide an envelope inside. Inside the envelope was a letter, professing her love for the English fireman. She knew he would never be able to read it, and she cursed herself for never telling him. The actress did not shed a tear at the death of the man she loved. Vanessa only cried because he would never know.

At the service following the viewing, Django Brown gave a short eulogy.

"I got to know Phineas and Ferb quite well in the months we ran the Wabash Cannonball together. You'll never meet two nicer folks anywhere.

"The day of the accident, Phineas volunteered to take the cars from Train 97 to Spencer in addition to his own train, which was already too heavy for his engine. Why? Because two friends," he said, nodding toward Steve and Buford, who were seated in the second row, "Would lose their jobs if he didn't. That's how Phineas was, and Ferb, too. They always thought of others.

"So here's to Phineas Flynn and Ferb Fletcher: May they go down in history with the late, great, Casey Jones, as two of the bravest railroad men who ever lived."

_Here's to Phineas and Ferb, may their names forever stand  
And always be remembered throughout this great land  
Their earthly race is over and we'll bear them to the pall  
And we'll carry 'em up to heaven on the Wabash Cannonball_

Less then two months later, Isabella gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Very soon, though, she ran out of money to support herself and the baby. She moved herself and her child to Washington, Virginia, where Francis Monogram gave her a job as a ticket clerk. She never forgave herself for the way she treated her husband when she was pregnant. Occasionally, a far off train whistle would remind her of Phineas, and she would break down into tears.

Steve and Buford were allowed to keep their jobs with the Southern Railway, but they resigned from their positions as operators of engine 1728 and went to work as fitters at the Baldwin Locomotive Works.

Django Brown remained the conductor on the Wabash Cannonball. Six months after the accident on Stillhouse Trestle, Django was killed in a collision with the Twentieth Century Limited, East Bound for New York. A conflicting timetable was to blame for the accident. After that, the Southern Railway discontinued Train 38.

Jeremy proposed to Candace on New Year's Eve in Atlanta. They married and had their first child, a little girl, in August. They didn't appear in this story, so this paragraph is pointless.

_Well listen to the jingle, the rumble and the roar_  
_As she glides along the woodland by hills and by the shore_  
_Hear the mighty rush of the engine, hear that lonesome hobo squall_  
_We're traveling through to Dixie on the Wabash Cannonball_

_ We're riding through the jungle on the Wabash Cannonball_

**THE END**

**I hope you've all enjoyed this songfic. Sorry I had to kill the main characters, but if I didn't, the songs wouldn't have worked.**

**I will be returning to working on ****_P&F Industries #7_**** now. I think I'm going to post that in three chunks of a few chapters a piece because of how long it's going to be.**

**Please review and thanks for reading!**

**EDD17SP**


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